bucktommy | 5.1k | rated t
crash that helicopter! based on real events
Tommy wishes he could say he’s surprised when his helicopter is suddenly completely engulfed by balloons as he’s flying over the hills near the Hollywood Sign. It’s certainly not what he expected when Harbor got a call about a hiker who needed to be transported to the hospital. This was supposed to be a fairly run-of-the-mill flight, as far as things go in this job. Tommy thought it would be a good, safe training exercise for his new probie.
The balloons are bizarre, to be sure, but full immersion in a sea of latex isn’t the most bewildering thing that Tommy has ever seen. After all, he saw active combat. He worked during the beenado. He dated a man who, in Tommy’s more honest moments, he can admit got cursed with boils by the vengeful ghost of a dead cowboy. Tommy has seen enough outlandish and frankly baffling things in his life that a wave of balloons with someone’s face on them fully blocking his vision at 10,000 feet doesn’t throw him nearly as badly as it does his probie in the back.
“What the fuck?” Garcia asks, voice full of fear. The kid is so green that Tommy is almost jealous.
“That,” Tommy says carefully, evenly, “is a good question.”
Every turn of the rotors pops the balloons around them. Pop. Pop pop pop. It’s loud even over the sounds of the machine. They can hear the bursts through their headsets. Pop pop pop.
↳ tommy showing up for buck vs the one time he couldn't
"They’re all isolated. They’re all in a plastic bubble or in a tent or Buck’s on the other side of a thing and breaking down, and Tommy’s watching him from a monitor. No one is there to comfort anyone." -> Tim Minear
"This guy is a high-functioning, highly calibrated human being. So, throwing in emotions, it does not work well with his processing. But I think in that moment, he was ready to go in after him." -> Lou Ferrigno Jr
let's go back to a simpler time, when we were all thinking about what might happen after their coffee date.
this was originally intended to be a prequel to my fic dance with me (I want my arms around you) and at least twice as long, but the second half has been fighting me for months so I figured I'd just share what I have.
“Okay.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, great.”
~~~
Evan insists on throwing away the coffee he’d gotten for Tommy and buying him a new one, one he’ll actually enjoy, which is both wholly unnecessary – Tommy has drunk a lot of subpar coffee over the years – and very endearing.
“Let me treat you to something. Please,” Evan says, and he’s so sweet, so sincere, that Tommy relents. Tells him his coffee order – not that it was some big secret – and accepts the replacement cup with a smile. And if their hands brush, when Evan hands it over, and if Tommy lets their fingers linger against each other, well. That’s fine. That’s more than fine.
They talk for the better part of an hour, about everything and nothing: people they both know in the department; the crazy calls they’ve responded to, and the handful they realize they may have been working from opposite sides over the years; shows they’ve been watching and books they’ve been reading. Tommy is strangely delighted to learn that Evan is more of a reader than a watcher – that when they get on the subject of murder mysteries, he knows all about Agatha Christie’s mysterious disappearance in 1926, but takes a minute to remember what Law & Order is. It makes Tommy feel like maybe the ten years’ age difference isn’t such a big gap after all.
Evan doesn’t stop smiling the entire time.
When their coffee cups are empty he glances down at his hands. He’s still smiling, but he looks a little nervous all of a sudden.
“So, uh, what are you doing for the rest of the afternoon?” he asks. “Because th-there’s this farmer’s market a couple of blocks over, I was thinking about swinging through? If you wanted to check it out?”
Tommy’s sure his grin back is almost embarrassing in its enthusiasm. He gently lays a hand on top of one of Evan’s, a mirror of their earlier touch.
“I’ve got some time,” he says. “Let’s go.”
The farmer’s market is almost painfully charming. The coffee shop Evan had chosen, despite the bougie LA vibes of the patio, was a real hometown neighborhood kind of place, and the market is no different. There are local bakeries and sandwich shops with booths; abuelas selling pickles on card tables and a church selling honey from the beehives that apparently surround their community garden. There’s a kid with an honest-to-god lemonade stand.
It’s absolutely delightful. Evan flits from booth to table, utterly in his element, making friends with kids and abuelas alike. He buys a jar of local honey and one of pickled kohlrabi – a vegetable Tommy is fairly sure he had a vague idea was a real thing that exists – and lingers in front of a display of romanesco broccoli for a while with a speculative look that’s starting to make Tommy almost apprehensive, before something else grabs his attention and he’s moving down the row, asking questions about someone’s backyard flock of chickens.
Tommy learns a lot about Evan in the hour they spend wandering the market. He hears a lot about his cooking adventures, of course; Evan is cheerfully unembarrassed about how disastrous some of his kitchen experiments have been, but seems to genuinely treat everything as a learning experience. He hears a lot about the other members of the 118, especially Captain Nash, and starts to form a picture of just how fundamentally things have changed there since he transferred out.
He’s so glad, in wistful kind of way, that the satisfaction and support Evan clearly gets from his work and his firehouse family was never quashed by questionable leadership. He wonders what things would have been like for him, if he’d had someone like Bobby Nash in his corner from the beginning, like Evan has. If he’d be as joyful, as unselfconscious.
If he’d have been able, like Evan, to grab a man he was interested by the elbow to excitedly point out someone selling fresh donuts from a cart on the corner, and slide his hand down his forearm, and tangle their fingers together in order to tug him down the street.
Tommy looks down at where their hands are interlaced. Big hands, firefighters’ hands; calloused and scarred and hairy. At first he thinks Evan hasn’t even noticed what he’s done, and then he looks back up and catches those blue eyes, the hint of a smile in them. Then Evan squeezes his hand and raises it deliberately, just a little, just enough that the message is clear: Yes, I’m doing this on purpose. Yes, I like you. I want to hold your hand and buy you donuts and make you smile in this perfect sunshine.
Tommy is beginning to realize that he might be in the best kind of trouble.
They do get the donuts, which are made by an ingenious and frankly hypnotizing little contraption that squirts out perfect circles of dough, floats them down a river of hot oil, and automatically flips them, at which point the vendor scoops them out, sprinkles them with cinnamon sugar, and hands them over in a paper bag, piping hot.
Eventually, Tommy glances regretfully at his watch.
“I hate to say this, but I’ve got an appointment at 4:00, so I should probably get going.”
“Oh, no worries!” If Evan’s disappointed, he doesn’t let it show in the tone of his voice, or in his smile as they turn to head back to where their cars are parked.
“Hey, uh, before you go.” Evan ducks his head and looks up through his eyelashes with that shy smile he has that absolutely slices through every one of Tommy’s defenses like a hot knife through butter.
Tommy’s pretty sure Evan genuinely had no idea how sweetly flirtatious he’d looked the first couple of times he’d aimed that smile in Tommy’s direction – but he might be catching up, if the way he slouches back invitingly against the door of his Jeep is any indication. They’re standing so close together that Tommy can get just a whiff of some kind of herbal-smelling aftershave or cologne that Evan is wearing.
“Before I go?” Tommy prompts.
“Just, real quick,” Evan says, and hooks one finger between the buttons of Tommy’s henley, and tugs him gently into a kiss.
Sweet, is all Tommy has time to think before his eyes flutter closed and he’s leaning in, one hand still in his hoodie pocket and the other coming to rest on Evan’s hip. God, he’s sweet.
The kiss is gentle. Soft. Just lips, and their noses barely brushing together, and the sounds of birdsong and traffic in the background. Tommy pulls back to take a breath and Evan is beaming at him, eyes so bright and blue that Tommy can’t help but lean in and kiss him again.
And okay, maybe this kiss is pushing the boundaries of what’s appropriate for a coffee shop parking lot, because it only takes about half a second before Evan’s tongue is teasing at Tommy’s bottom lip, and then Tommy learns that Evan’s mouth tastes like coffee, and like the donuts they’d shared.
It’s their third kiss, technically, and Tommy realizes he already can’t wait to find out what Evan’s mouth tastes like on their fourth kiss, and on their fifth. He can’t wait to lose track of the number of kisses he’s shared with this man, who is earnest and kind and who flexes one hand against Tommy’s chest like he wants to dig his fingers in and stay there. Who chases after Tommy’s mouth when he pulls back to breathe again, who makes the tiniest little noise of disgruntlement, of longing, when they separate.
For a heartbeat they just look at each other. Then:
“Wow,” Evan says, mostly under his breath, and clears his throat, and smiles like the sun. “I, uh. I really like kissing you.”
“Well, that’s good,” Tommy says. “Because I really like kissing you, too.”
“Good. That is good.” Evan grins at him. “You know, it’s – it’s kind of stupid, but after I fumbled our first date I just kept thinking, ‘Damn, I didn’t even get the chance to kiss him again.’ So, uh, thanks for giving me another chance.”
“Thanks for asking for one, Evan,” Tommy says.
For another several heartbeats they just look at each other, and look some more. Tommy can feel the smile blooming across his face, and he knows he must look like a fool, and he cannot bring himself to care.
“I really do need to get going,” he says after a minute.
“Yeah! Yeah, don’t let me keep you,” Evan says. Keep me, Tommy thinks. “What are you up to for the rest of the week? I mean, do you want to get together again before the wedding? I’m throwing Chim a bachelor party, you definitely should come to that at least.”
“Got a long run of shifts coming up,” Tommy says. “One of our guys is out on parental leave, so I’m pulling overtime. But text me. We’ll figure something out.”
“Okay, sounds good. I’ll text you.” Evan’s smile is so wide that his dimples look deep enough to swim in.
Tommy can’t help himself. He darts back in for one more swift peck, but ends up mostly missing Evan’s lips and clumsily kissing the corner of his mouth instead. It doesn’t even matter. They’re both smiling so hard it wouldn’t have been much of a kiss anyway.
He manages to restrain himself and only glances over his shoulder at Evan once as he walks across the parking lot to his truck.
Okay. Maybe twice.
Twenty minutes later, he’s halfway to his appointment – only running a little late – when his phone chimes where he tossed it on the passenger seat.
He picks it up after he’s parked. Three texts from Evan Buckley.
so is it too soon to text u or…?
I had a really great time today
I’ll be thinking about you all day, hope that’s ok
Tommy smiles to himself, alone in his car. It takes him a minute to figure out what he wants to write back, but eventually he taps out:
Me too. And that’s more than okay. In fact the feeling is mutual ;)
He should feel embarrassed; he’s really not a smiley face kind of guy. But when Evan texts back a simple :D about two seconds later, he’s pretty sure he’s floating on air as he jumps out of his truck and shoves his keys in his pocket.
There is no drug on earth that can replicate the absolute euphoria of hitting a writing flow state at 2:00 AM. You aren’t even typing anymore. You are a vessel. You are a channel for the gods. The characters are speaking directly into your brain and you’re just the stenographer trying to keep up. You feel like you could fight a bear. You feel like you invented the alphabet
take heart, daddy! your time was not wasted! the 1000 words of developmental work you put in, even if ultimately scrapped, were necessary scaffolding for the final draft! meow or whatever
Uh, s-so you said, before, um, that-that you don’t think I’m ready. And the truth is, I don’t know what I’m ready for. But I am ready for something. And-and I think maybe that something, could be with you. You already know that I’m interested.
Relationship: Evan Buckley/Tommy Kinard/Eddie Diaz
Rating: E
Word count: 5.9k
Additional Tags: Dom/sub, Dom Evan "Buck" Buckley, Sub Tommy Kinard, Sub Eddie Diaz, Bondage, Gags, Sex Toys, Daddy Kink
It’s Tommy’s left hip that indicates that a decent amount of time has passed. Being laid on his side on Evan’s hardwood living room floor, locked in one position for an extended period of time, will do that to a man. The only kindness Tommy and Eddie have been afforded is the pillow under their heads.
